


We Don't Try

by mystic_hyacinth



Series: Tyushnakov Family Values [9]
Category: Original Work, Voltage Series
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Art is on 2nd Chapter, Bathing/Washing, Character Study, Codependency, Crossdressing, Digital Art, Drug Withdrawal, F/M, Feeding, Horns, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Naked Cuddling, No Sex, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Nudity, Protective Siblings, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:19:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystic_hyacinth/pseuds/mystic_hyacinth
Summary: It's like clockwork: Klemintina returns home and Kieran is there to pick up what's left of her.
Relationships: Kieran Tyushnakov/Klemintina "Klem" Tyushnakov
Series: Tyushnakov Family Values [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1854673
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Happy 2021! Starting the year off with some smutless hurt/comfort. I don't write these fics often but I really do want this year to be more about character studies than smut (even if I don't plan on quitting writing smut altogether). Kieran and Klem are both 17 in this fic. 
> 
> Title is taken from Chris Garneau's "We Don't Try"

I’m home for maybe a half an hour or so before Kieran comes knocking at my door. I didn’t tell him when I was coming back, much less expecting him to be part of my welcome party at the reasonable hour of four in the morning, but I’m not pissed when he shows up at my door looking all frazzled and worried as usual.

“It’s been three weeks.” he says and this comes as a shock to me. When I’m away, days and nights don’t really mean anything and the passing of time is really only marked by whatever girl I’ve got besides me. 

“I don’t know, Amsterdam, Hamburg. Something like that. You know how it goes.” If anything, it’s Kieran - he’s the only one that knows _anything_ around here. I can only shrug and stare back at him. I know I reek and I look fucking out of it, but before I know it he’s hugging me, his scrawny body all shaky and his breathing all ragged. “I was worried, Klem. I really missed you, I’m glad you’re home.”

If we were in public I would push him off and remind him that I don’t do the whole hugging thing when there’s girls around. Yet, I can’t help it. I wrap my arms around him and pull him closer. “Thanks, Ki. Means a lot. I missed you, too.”

The weird part is, I mean it. I always do miss him. I know I’m part of the reason why he never fucking leaves. I know that if there’s ever a chance I don’t come back he’s still gonna be here, waiting when they drag my mangled corpse back to Shurshanov. He’s like that for all of us, but for me it means something. It feels like he’s bracing himself for the worst.

“Where’s Mum?” I ask.

I feel Kieran’s weight slump against me, as if telling me this info has a physical effect on him. “Kicked Da out of their room and gone to bed. They had a big fight.”

“Over me?"

“Or me, I’m not sure.” he sighs. “Did you eat before you left? If you didn’t it’s okay, I told one of the maids to have some soup ready for you soon.”

I smile at him but somehow even moving the muscles in my face like that proves to be exhausting. “I ate on the plane.” I lie. He sees right through it, thank the Mothers.

“Well, how bout we get you cleaned up?” he asks, I can tell he’s tired too. Maybe reconsidering whether or not his day naps are a good idea if they keep him up like this. 

“Yeah, I bet. Don’t wanna funk up the place now that it’s clean.” I whisper and truth be told my clean room still feels unnatural and hazy. I know that it’ll only take a little while before I’ve properly fucked it up again and the cotton-lemongrass smell from the diffuser Mum put in is hopeless against my own unholy stink. I’m not sure if its because I’m more used to the smell of hotel sheets and strangers duvets than my own bed - but he sight of it made, the floor all picked up and even my lava lamps left on makes it seem like the person who lives in here has there shit together and is home more than once a month. 

“Mum told the maids to do it.” he smiles and damn it’s always so warm and sweet and inviting even with his uneven fangs. If he didn’t hate himself so much he would be a model. “She said she didn’t want you coming home and wallowing in your own filth or something."

I smirk. I could hear her bossing maids around, fussing about what needed to be placed where and even the smells that she wanted put in the diffuser. “That’s what you do, yeah?”

He chuckles. “Mum’s used to seeing me slumping around like that. Guess she wants it to be special for you.”

I want to smile but I wish she weren’t so drained after fighting with Da to come and see me. But I know that once I’m gone for more than a few weeks she knows I’ll turn up eventually. Maybe I’ve tired her out more than Da has.

Luckily for me, thinking too much doesn’t matter when you’ve got Kieran around because he always has something to pipe up with. 

“Maybe I can help you unpack a little?” he asks and with hesitant hands he brushes a bit of my hair aside, noting all the matts and knots in it that I tried hiding with the sloppy braids I did on the plane ride over. He’s eyes start to look even sadder as he takes me all in, seeing that I look more like a hobo than a literal princess who just rolled in on a private jet after a three-week bender in all the fucking capitals of Europe.

“What?” I ask and it doesn’t mean to sound as snappy as it does and I feel bad when he pulls his hand away.

He’s quiet for a moment, taking a few deep breaths as his brows crease and furrow. I’m half expecting him to bawl and cry, tell me how much he hates seeing me like this and wish I could just be normal like him and never leave the house and we could be sad homebodies together. I wish he would just be like Da and admit he’s ashamed of me. I wish, just for once, to see sweet, pushover Kieran go into a blinding rage.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. I’ll help.” is all he says. “The maids can just leave your food by the door.”

It’s me that wants to cry but I follow him into the bathroom without saying anything. 

He clicks on the light and strips down to his cami and panties before going to turn on the water. I stand by the door, seeing as my bathroom is pretty small compared to everyone else and I want to stay out of the way and get a nice view to watch him fidget around trying to get everything ready for me. Kieran is just as filthy as I am, but when he does clean himself up he does it in style. There’s a variety of bath salts and soaps and tinctures that are always here when I come back but I never really use them myself. Kieran seems to get into the groove of it, dropping in a squirt of this or a dash of that like he’s making stew. The water gets all nice and sudsy and turns slightly green and he works some more. I can only watch, half because the scent from the tub is as calming as it is strong and even if it starts to make my head hurt I love every moment of it. 

Even with how lazy he is, I can tell he likes moving around when he puts his mind to it.

There’s a moment when the tub is almost full that he ducks out for a moment and then comes back with an armful of candles in varying sizes and colors, lighting them all over the bathroom before finally turning the tub off. 

“Do you want me to get you out of your clothes or do you think you've got it?” he asks. I know if I take too long to answer he’ll just assume I’m too hungover or reeling from my high to do much for myself and he’ll swoop in to do everything for me.

“I can do it.” I say and I do just to prove to him I’m not pathetic.

The tub is more like a really wide jacuzzi with its weird oblong shape and jets that Kieran doesn’t hesitate to turn on. I lean against the wall as I slip out of the track pants and the tight dress that was supposed to be doubling as a really long shirt. Kieran watches me the whole time, waits to see if I stumble or trip on myself but I manage. He doesn’t even flinch at the sight of my naked body, seeing all the etchings in it too many times to be weirded out. Instead, he just just calls me over with a calm, friendly hand.

I’m grateful the candles are unscented, anymore perfumes and my headache would have kept me from walking. 

He helps me into the tub and the water is perfectly scalding. “Baby steps.” he whispers, reminding me to mind my feet as I descend down the little staircase. 

When I’m finally in enough to crouch down I turn to him, telling him I want to go under for a few moments. Kieran’s face knots with anxiety and he bites his lip. “If you’re down there too long I’ll pull you up.” he says and I believe him, like always.

I sink down quick. The water muffles the sound and I feel my hair start to lift and float around me. It’s not deep enough in here to swim but I allow my body to just sink to the bottom, enough to look up and see the vague, pale blue smudge that is my baby brother. 

Even if I wanted to try and drown myself I couldn’t, he’d know and grab me before my lungs had the chance to run out of air. I like it down here though, underneath the water and only seeing the world from the distorted picture that the surface makes. There’s hardly any sound save for the cracking in my ears but it’s safe and hot and nothing matters here. I want to stay but I know I can’t.

When I come back up my hair sticks to me in a flat, silvery curtain and I push myself back over to the ledge of the tub where Kieran’s still sitting. “How is it? Do you want it warmer?” he asks.

“Nah, it’s really good. Feels nice down there.” I say and he smiles, reaching down to pull a bottle of shampoo from next to his feet. 

“Close your eyes, I’ll only be a moment.” he always says this and that’s the only lie I know him to tell. He’s never just a moment with my hair as he works his hands through all the knots and grease and dirt. The sound of his fingers becomes muffled as the shampoo soaps up and I allow myself to simply melt into it. His curses at the knots and caked up dirt, picking out glitter and stale strands of other people’s hair. He works it through with a brush before scrubbing at it with his fingers once again. 

Kieran doesn’t work hard on a lot of things, especially if he knows he’s not good at them. Still, he tries with me, harder than any song he writes or any note he tries to get down. I like to think I’m his favorite passion project.

When the strawberry scent of shampoo starts to get too much I think he starts to notice me heave a bit before I do. “Klem?” he calls in the middle distance. The ringing in my ears intensifies as I lurch forward and anticipate the burning sludge that’s about to pour out of me. I hate this, I wish I’d locked my door and pretended to be dead when he inevitably tried to break it down.

Despite all the retching, there’s nothing more than a little bit of thick spit before I relax back against the water. Kieran sighs and keeps scrubbing at my head, working his fingers to the grime surrounding my horns. “Don’t worry, we’re almost done. I promise.” he says it to me like Mum used to when we would try and escape the tub as kids. She would bribe us with extra sugar in our oatmeal the next morning and we listened to her. I wonder if Kieran still remembers that.

“How do you like your oatmeal?” I asked, eyes fixed on watching as my hand goes all wonky underneath the water. 

His hands pause as though he’s shocked at hearing a full sentence out of me. “Um, let’s see...brown sugar, bananas, blueberries and strawberries with Nutella, piping hot. Why?”

“Just asking, that’s how I like it too.” I say. I don’t smile even if I'm happy to hear him say what he likes. 

I can hear his smile in his words. “I’ll ask the maids to send you up some tomorrow morning. I’ll eat it with you.”

“That’d be really cool, Ki.” he goes to grab the little hand jet from the side of the tub and blasts the shampoo out of my hair. 

“Keep your head back and we’ll let that sit in there. We’ll get the rest of you cleaned up.”

I nod and he goes to grab the soap. The scent is light, just the faintest whiff of lemon. It doesn’t bug me as much and it actually feels good when the scratch of the loofah hits my back. If there’s any new bruises and contusions, Kieran doesn’t mention them. The best he does is shush me when I wince as he the loofah passes over the new marks. He hums a song, too. I remember it from all the diplomat weddings we went to as kids. I sing along as he soaps me down, though I’m not sure how many of the words I actually say. 

_ “Though the road may be long and I may be weary, _

_ I ask you to stay and be near me.”  _

Kieran pauses the singing and asks me to stand up. He holds my hand as he tries scrubbing the rest of me, perhaps to steady me, perhaps to reassure me that it’s all going to be over soon. He scrubs my stomach, my arms and legs. He asks for permission before going anywhere near my cunt. I nod and he sings just a little louder, trying to distract both of us as I feel him work the loofah as gently as he can down there.

_ “Brambles may tear my sullen skin. _

_ And briquettes scorch your tender feet...” _

He turns me around and gets the back end. I guess I don’t have a hard time being naked around him, nor even having him clean me up like this, but I guess it just shows how comfy we are. Even through my bleary eyes I know he’s not getting off to this and I know I never could. It’s just part of what we do. 

_ “I would swim through treacherous waters,  _

_ To keep you close to me...” _

He sings the chorus some more before making me sit back down in the water and grabbing the hand jet to hose me off one final time. “You know you don’t have to do any of this, right?” I say.

“Yes I do.” his voice is kind but intense. “I have to do this.”

“Why, though? I’m not crippled, I can do shit on my own.” I say. 

His eyes don’t meet mine but I know he doesn’t believe me. “I just want to make this stuff easier for you, Klem. I know a lot of stuff is hard.”

I should slap him for saying that, assuming that just because I’m a fucking trainwreck it’s hard. That I’m some charity case he has to look after because he’s always afraid that one day will be the last time he does this, that he always has to make every time I come home feel like both a hello and a goodbye. He falls asleep to the sound of screaming and crying and vomiting and yet he’s still there, sweet and calm and miserable as ever.

“Why don’t you ever ask me to help you with shit, huh? I could do it, what do you need me to do?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need you to do anything for me. I wouldn’t ask that of you.” he presses a button and the plug pops out of the bottom of the tub. I watch the water recede, feel it sink away from my skin until I’m left naked and alone against the porcelain, one of the exposed jets pressing into the knobs of my spine. Kieran leaves me alone for a bit, lets me watch the water drain. He knows I like that.

After the tub is fully empty he starts toweling me off. “I’m thinking we should go to Mexico.” I say.

His brows furrow and something like fear colors his baby pink eyes. “You know anybody down there?” he asks, voice wary.

“Not a fucking soul. It’ll be perfect.” I smile and I think he does too. “Nobody would know who we were and nobody would suspect us there. We could live out in the desert and you could pretend to be my girlfriend.”

Kieran laughs and he keeps drying me before finally handing it over for me to wrap around my waist. “I can’t speak Spanish.”

“We’ll pretend to be mute.” I say and close my eyes one last time as the hair dryer shrieks behind me. He doesn’t use it for very long, just enough so I won’t have to go to bed with a head full of wet hair. He’s meticulous like that.

“Okay, good.” he says, like he’s patting himself on the back for making me look like a fucking person again, he loops around the room to blow out all the candles before taking my hand and making me stand up again. “Come on, I’m pretty sure I heard the maids come in to leave the food.”

He takes me by the hand and when he opens the door the fireplace is lit. I can see the shiny silverware with my dinner in it sitting on top of the mantle, the heavy smell of the soup just as warm and inviting as the hearth itself. Kieran smiles and says something about wanting to thank the maids for saving him the trouble. He’s scared to use the fireplace in his room, says that he doesn’t want to get yelled at for singing the hardwood if one of the embers gets out. I laugh a little. 

“Clothes or no clothes?” he asks. My skin is still damp but with the heat of the room I know I’ll dry off soon enough. 

I shake my head, going to sit down on my bed. “I’ll be fine maybe just in my boxers.” he nods and already knows where to go, rifling through my dresser before coming back with a pair of dark green ones. I put them on by myself as Kieran goes to grab the food from it’s spot on top of the mantle. There’s a tall glass bottle of cold water with it and a side of bread. Kieran doesn’t mind the fact that I wolf down all the bread in a few minutes, he’s too busy quickly tying my hair back into one single braid down my spine. I like it that way, very French.

When he’s done behind me I watch as he stirs the borscht up a bit before taking a little spoonful and raising it to my lips, I open my mouth and let the salty, dense stuff sink onto my tongue. He mixes it around some more, allowing the extra beet chunks to get carried up with the spoon. I chew and swallow and love every bite but none of us says anything. There’s the clink of the silverware and the crackle of the fire and the two of us, orbiting around one another. It feels kinda normal, Princess and Heir Apparent to all of Shurshanov, getting fed borscht by her lingerie-clad twin brother. 

We’d make a good stand up duo and yet I don’t know if we’d get a single laugh if we started talking for more than five minutes.

It doesn’t take long to fully empty the bowl and even after Kieran goes to get up and leave the silver tray by the door for the maids, I know I’ll still be hungry later. If he stays he’ll wake up to the sound of me hunched over whatever I stole from the scullery and tearing through it like a dog. I guess that’s kinda funny too, the fact that I’m barely civilized enough to even be in a zoo. 

I try drinking some more of the water and end up finishing the entire bottle before he even comes back to the bed. “Feels better?” he asks and I can only nod. 

“Are you going to stay?” I ask and my voice sounds wrecked, even more so than before I ate. I don’t care why.

Kieran looks me over for a split second before nodding and I crawl up to the head of the bed to lay down. He follows suit and he curls his arms around me. It’s a little awkward since I’m taller than him and even though he’s trying I can feel how weak his arms are compared to mine. I can just pretend his grip is like steel and try not to move, no matter how hard that is for me.

He smells like lemons, too. Fresh linen with the slightest hint of sweat. I’m proud he cleaned himself up.

“Why are you so okay with doing this for me?” I ask, caught between sinking deeper into his arms and pushing him away like he’s got claws digging into me. “You should be pissed off.”

“I don’t like being angry.” he says. “Plus, I don’t have any reason to be. Why would I be mad about you coming home like this?”

“Because I fucking failed you. I was supposed to be there for you,  _ your _ rock, your shoulder to cry on. I’m not supposed to be the baby here.”

He sighs, squeezing me gently. “A lot has happened with you and me and everyone else. I don’t think it’s a bad thing that we’re all trying to cope.”

His calmness and intentional kindness makes me even angrier but the rage barely etches into my voice, I don’t push him away at all. “Nobody’s coping and you know that shit. The only one in here who ever fucking looks at me is you and half of the time I know all you do is pity me. You don’t even like me, you just don’t want me to die.” I don’t know what I’m saying but it feels good. It feels awful. I can’t hurt Kieran like this but I can’t stop talking. It’s like arguing with Da only Kieran doesn’t argue because he doesn’t think he can get angry like the rest of us. I’m pretty sure his religion defines prophethood as being a pushover and he knows that’s the only thing in his life he can aspire at.

“Klem, no...no…” he says to me and strokes my head as I start babbling. “I don’t want you to die because I love you - “

“You’re afraid of me. You think I’m gonna explode.”

“I’m afraid because I don’t like it when you leave but I can’t make you like me. I can’t make you stay because of that.”

“Then fight me on it.” I say. “Hurt me and make it happen.”

He shakes his head and sighs. “I don’t think I can hurt people when being mad makes me throw up.”

My hands dig into his arms and I let out a shaky, wimpy breath that’s cut through with the charred remains of a sob. “I can’t even fucking cry anymore, I don’t even want to.”

“It’s not bad to cry.” he says. 

“Then how come you never do?” I ask in a cracking voice, too harsh and rough for his softness. 

His breath hitches and he squeezes me. “We don’t cry, us two.” he says. “We just wait.”

What I think is a pained, crying howl comes out of me but it’s like it gets caught in midair, no tears to really push it forwards. He’s right - we don’t cry, we can’t. Not because we think it’s bad, I’m pretty sure whatever we feel is beyond tears or whatever Kieran can put in his sad songs. It’s beyond the screaming matches and the girls and all the shitty coal dust in Berlin. It’s heavy and gross and too ugly for pretty things like tears.

“You’re right.” I say, closing my eyes and holding tighter to him, watching the balcony over his shoulder. I squint a little but I’m still not sure what I’m seeing is real, I chance it. “It’s snowing, look.”

Kieran turns over for a second before turning back to me with a soft smile and he kisses my forehead. “Get some rest Klem, it’s June.”

I look up at him and then close my eyes. As always I’m wrong, taking one step and then falling hard and fast. Yet, Kieran is always there to catch me even if the weight of us both and the height of my fall breaks his legs in the process.

At least we don’t have to try when we sleep. 


	2. Art done by Max Kennedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art is done by @MaxKennedy on IG!

https://www.dropbox.com/s/msa5uiap2qctmcy/comm52.jpg?dl=0

**Author's Note:**

> Stay safe & happy new year!
> 
> Tumblr: @plentyokenty


End file.
